


And Everything is Permitted

by patchwork_panda



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Assassin's Creed (Video Game), M/M, Other, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchwork_panda/pseuds/patchwork_panda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sinja AU that takes place in the first Assassin's Creed universe, inspired by "seugawara" 's drawing of AC!assassin Ja'far.<br/>In this story, the Assassin's Brotherhood and Sham Lash are one and the same. They send Ja'far, one of their best men, to kill a man known only as "Sinbad the Sailor." Unfortunately for Ja'far, absolutely nothing goes as planned.<br/>*not a typical cross-over fic. No characters from AC appear in this tale but the setting is the same as the first game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Everything is Permitted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seugawara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seugawara/gifts).



> I'm writing this story in the setting of the first game primarily because of the geographic setting. It makes more sense to me to have Ja'far be part of the original Assassins' Brotherhood in Syria during the 1190's than to put him in any other AC game setting. Also in this fic, Sinbad is 24 and Ja'far is 20 just in case I want to write smut later ;)  
> Also, I may change the title later OTL I suck at coming up with good ones.

Silent as a shadow, he slipped into the darkness of the nearest alcove, high above the graveyard grounds. Down below, the procession of pall bearers, dressed in black, suspected little as they continued along their way, carting after them a flimsy wooden box large enough to house a full-grown man. Yet another victim of the plague, no doubt. For a moment, he was filled with a sense of pity. How many more of these men would fall victim to the slow ravages of disease rather than the quick work of his blade? It seemed rather unfair that his target, a man responsible for the death of hundreds, would suffer the more merciful demise.

He slowly drew in a breath of cool morning air, barely tinged with the flavor of mist and smoke and closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. Peace was needed to carry out this mission. His master had been prudent to remind him that he must fill his heart with it before it could spread throughout the realm. He would deliver peace unto this city just as he would for the unfortunate soul whose life he was about to claim. The cold irony of it all brought a small smile to his pale lips. It had occurred to him that many would consider it sacrilege to commit the cold-blooded act in the backyard of a church whilst a body was being laid to rest. Luckily for the Brotherhood, Ja’far was not a man of religion.

The coffin was set down with a thump in the soft wet earth of the open grave. Ja’far watched silently from his perch as the priest gave a short sermon, his steel gray eyes trained like a hawk’s upon the man who stood closest to the grave. His lower face obscured by a richly embroidered handkerchief he held to his nose to ward out the smell of death, he cut a rather unimpressive figure considering the magnitude of his crimes. It was not the smell but a faint feeling of disgust at the man that wrinkled the assassin’s freckled nose. Of course his target did not weep for the loss of his man; he had been the cause of the merchant’s untimely death... And Ja’far would be the cause of his.

As the last bit of dirt was flung over the grave and patted down with a bit of holy water, Ja’far made his move. Searching the skies for his friends, the pigeons, he snuck to the edge of a parapet deep within the shadows of the alcove. 

There.

A nearby pile of hay in the middle of a cart lay at the base of the building on his right. He stood to take one final look around the city, calculating possible escape routes that either he or his quarry could take. As he turned to the east, the early rays of the rising morning sun illuminated the vines growing atop the open rooftop of the Assassin’s Bureau, an unremarkable building far in the distance. It was several hundred meters away, the rooftop path littered with archers, but it did not matter to Ja’far. He was too fast, too sneaky. Two minutes spent hiding within those abandoned cloth shacks would throw them off his trail. Satisfied with his plan, he spread his arms, reminiscent of his feathered friends, and dove off the ledge upon which he stood.

His dive changed to a graceful somersault in mid-air and he landed safely with a soft thump on his back, taking care to wait a moment so as not to arouse suspicion in anyone who might have seen. When he sensed the danger was past, he brushed aside a section of hay, trying to locate the nobleman once more. His timing was impeccable. The man was getting ready to leave the graveyard and he was relatively unguarded, having sent his men ahead to ready his carriage. Only one personal bodyguard remained.

Quietly, he crept from his hiding spot towards the arched doorway behind the church. He produced a pebble from within his white robes, reached out and flung far it into the distance. A series of hollow thunks assured him that he had knocked over a pile of firewood somewhere and attracted attention.

“What was that?” his target questioned, suspicion instantly raised. He gestured to his lone bodyguard and pointed towards the pile. “Go investigate... and be on your guard.”

As the man departed, Ja’far readied his blades, watching until that armored back had all but disappeared down the path. Then he ran. The softness of the earth under his supple leather boots masked the sound of his racing footsteps as he sprinted towards the nobleman whose back was turned to the assassin. He quickly stepped over the rough surface of a granite headstone to give himself a boost and took a flying leap, right hand drawn back, the steel singing as it left its hidden sheath. Barely a second had passed but it was all over.

His target fell to the ground, carotid artery severed. It was a clean kill, Ja’far thought as he turned the man over to hear his last words.

“Well done, Assassin,” the man hissed, unable to suppress the gurgle of blood bubbling to his lips. “But you have merely cut one of the hydra’s heads. I shall be replaced and the Organization will continue to operate just as planned.”

One final cough and he was gone. Ja’far swiftly took out a single feather, pure-white to match his hair and robes, and dyed it with the man’s blood as proof of his kill. He closed the man’s eyes and departed swiftly.

***  
“Ah, Ja’far. Back already, I see?”

“The deed is done, Vittel,” Ja’far replied, approaching the desk. He flashed the feather, now soaked a quickly darkening red at this town’s Rafiq, who smiled slowly and nodded. Vittel bent to retrieve a dusty book from under the table, laid it upon the table and proceeded to record the events of the day.

“You’re getting better. It won’t be long before they promote you to Dai.”

“You flatter me, my friend.”

“No, I’m serious. I’m surprised they haven’t done it already. In fact, the Master has sent a pigeon requesting your return. It sounds like they may have a new mission for you...”

Ja’far raised an eyebrow.

“Already? How did she know? I didn’t see you send a pigeon and the city guard was not alerted to my latest kill...”

As the sentence left his mouth, the sound of bells rang from outside. Vittel managed a wane smile.

“Well, it looks like they know now. Perhaps it’s best you stay the night until all this dies down. You would probably draw more attention to yourself if you left right this minute...”

He trailed off as the assassin before him held up a hand.

“The Master requests my return. I don’t think it would do to make her wait, especially when there is work to be done.”

The Rafiq smirked and made a new note in his book.

“Suit yourself then. Safety and peace be upon you, Ja’far.”

“And you as well,” Ja’far said softly, exiting without a sound.

***  
His response may have bordered on arrogant, but it was not without cause. Ja’far managed to get to the furthest district on the outskirts of town before there was trouble. One of the archers had spotted him and raised the alert before he managed to silence the poor bastard. He’d jumped down immediately and was still a good distance away from the front gate when he found himself surrounded by guards. Ja’far sighed. He hated drawing his sword; he found it much too bulky and not nearly quick enough for him although he liked the long reach. He was a slender man and was not built for sustained brawls. However, it did not mean he was unable to defend himself in a situation like this.

As one man lunged for him, he stepped neatly to the side and delivered a fatal slash to the midsection, frowning as the entire street erupted in screams. This would make his escape a little more difficult... But the next man gave him no time to think. The guard’s sword was already over Ja’far’s hooded head, poised to split the assassin’s skull in two, when Ja’far raised his sword to block. Steel met steel in a shriek of metal and sparks but Ja’far did not yield an inch. He countered by kicking the man square in the chest and knocking him into a pile of ceramic jars, spilling grain out onto the cobblestone streets. He turned just in time to sink his blade through the chest of the guard who thought he’d try a sneak attack while Ja’far’s back was turned. Terrified, the other two guards hesitated, giving the assassin a chance to run through the streets, sheathing his weapons as he searched for a place to hide. Suddenly, a body appeared before him and he was about to attack again when he realized it was just a bystander, one who had accidentally run right into the confusion that the street had become.

_Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent._

He replaced the knife he’d instinctively drawn and pushed the poor fool into an alleyway, in hopes that guards would not cut him down by accident. He cut corners, sprinting into alleyways, moving steadily closer to the exit as he ran. Finally, he spotted a group of monks, clad in white robes similar to his own. He slowed to a walk, clasped his hands together as if in prayer and joined their ranks.

_Hide in plain sight._

“Where did he go?” someone shouted from behind him.

“Over here! There’s an alleyway between these stalls. He must have gone this way!”

He waited until the footsteps had faded before he broke rank and calmly walked towards the portcullis, clothes untarnished and expression impassive. The city guard had been fooled, letting him pass outside the gates to where his horse, a beautiful Arabian with a long arched neck and a shining dusky gray coat, stood waiting.

_And above all, never compromise the Brotherhood._

He left the walled city at a casual trot, its residents having already forgotten his presence. Another day, another successful mission.

***  
“You have done well, Ja’far.”

“Thank you, Master,” the white-haired assassin murmured, once again replacing the red feather within his robes. “Vittel has informed me you have another task for me?”

He thought he saw her eyes crinkle, as if she were smiling underneath that opaque white fabric, more like heavy parchment than a veil, that she kept draped over her face. It was hard to tell what thoughts or emotions the Master hid underneath that veil, especially when her eyes were as expressive as a wall of stone and for this reason, Ja’far was wary of her.

“Yes, my faithful student, I do. This mission supersedes all others you have been assigned and while I will have you rest to gather your strength tonight, I want to see him dispatched within a week of your departure from Masayf.”

At once, he placed his palms together and flipped one downwards in their organization’s salute.

“Of course, Master.”

One week? This man must be very dangerous if she was sending him, one of the Brotherhood’s very best men after him so quickly. Historically, the Assassins never took bribes but under the new Master, things had slowly begun to change... and Ja’far wasn’t sure he was happy with these changes. Perhaps someone had paid a pretty penny to have this man executed.

“Kill him and you will be promoted to Dai.”

Ja’far’s gray eyes narrowed. A very pretty penny indeed...

“And my target’s name?”

He imagined her lip curling ferociously underneath that scrap of cloth as she answered:

“Sinbad the Sailor.”


End file.
